


The Game of Love

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, Humor, Other, Threesome, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan's been dumped again. Will Denny let him borrow Shirley?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannelora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannelora/gifts).



> Dear Hannelora,
> 
> Thank you for the opportunity to write Boston Legal fic! I hope that this comes close to meeting your request. :)
> 
> Many thanks to my husband for the beta.

Alan Shore sat back in his fake concrete fake armchair and blew out a long puff of smoke. "Have you ever thought what it would be like to quit?"

"Quit what? My job? The firm? Life?"

"No! Not life."

Denny leaned forward and peered at Alan. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes. Although come to think of it, I suppose I do mean that, in a way. Just lie back and quit."

"Denny Crane doesn't quit."

"Ever tried? Just for fun. To see what it's like?"

"Why would I do that?" Denny filled his face with smoke and blew it into his scotch, sipping it as the last curls of smoke blew through his mouth and nose.

"Oh, I don't know," said Alan, leaning back to look at the stars. "Just to try something different, I suppose."

"Someone broke up with you today," said Denny.

"What makes you say that?"

"You always get quiet, maudlin or philosophical when someone breaks up with you. Or you go back to your place and cry."

"I do not cry!"

"Sure you do. And then you wake up on your windowsill fifteen storeys high, and you call me to come get you for a sleep-over."

"And you send your driver."

"Costs me overtime," muttered Denny.

"Costs you a plane ticket, too, these days," said Alan.

"That's right! I'll send you a bill in the morning."

"Don't forget to include the driver." Alan puffed on his cigar. "I don't suppose you'd lend me Shirley--"

"Don't you dare! She's mine."

"Well, technically she's Carl's, but I was asking for Shirley Schmidt-ho."

"She's mine, too," said Denny. "I don't share Shirley. Any Shirley."

"You share the live one with Carl and the doll with the cleaning staff."

"Carl took her from me," said Denny in a low growl. "Just like the cleaning staff steal the doll." He glared at Alan, hurt in his eyes. "I don't want you stealing from me."

"I can't steal from you, Denny. You're my husband."

"That could change," said Denny darkly.

Alan took a moment to get over the unexpected hurt of that. "You know," he said, when he could make his voice light enough, "If she's yours, that means she's also mine."

Denny turned slowly towards Alan. "What do you mean by that?"

Alan hoped that Denny didn't currently have a gun on him. "We're married. We have each other's power of attorney. What's mine is yours, and what's yours is--"

"Off-limits!"

"Denny!" Alan shook his head and sighed away his exasperation, looking off to the right and trying to quell his emptiness.

"We'll share," said Denny, after an eternal pause.

"What?"

"I won't lend her to you, 'cause she's mine. But I'll share her with you."

"You mean, like ... all of us? Together? Like a threesome?" Alan trembled, though he wasn't sure with what.

"Sure. We've shared whores in seven states. We can share Shirley."

"Shirley is not a whore!"

"Did you see her outfit at the last Halloween party?" said Denny, shifting in his plastic concrete fake.

"She was Betty Boop," said Alan, incredulous.

"Best little whore in the world," said Denny, leaning back into his cigar.

Alan shook his head. "So we'll share her," he said. "How's this going to work?"

Denny looked at Alan. "Road trip," he said, voice rich and thick with lust and scheming.

Alan smiled at him, delighting in the renewed vigor of mind and body bestowed by the Dimebolin. "All right, Denny," he laughed, first at the sky and then at Denny. "We'll do a road trip."

Denny reached over and took his hand. "Haven't done that since we got married."

*****

"You got us the Steel Magnolias house?" Shirley looked at the red brick building from the street as she spoke into her cell phone.

Denny leaned in towards Alan. "It's working," he whispered, a bit too close to Alan's ear.

Alan jumped aside and brushed impatiently at Denny.

"The whole thing? Carl, it's just the three of us ... Really? But--oh...."

Alan registered what she was saying but focused more on the way the setting sun captured her face, erasing tiny lines and emphasizing the delicate beauty of flawless bone structure.

"Look at the glow of her skin," whispered Denny, right back at Alan's ear. "Just the same as when I first saw her..."

"Shh!" said Alan.

"Oh, I'll tell them, all right!" Shirley paused and smiled. "I love you, too, Carl."

Alan spared a glance for Denny and saw downcast eyes.

"Bye," said Shirley. She turned to Alan and Denny. "Carl got us the whole place."

"That was generous of him," said Denny, scowling.

"Ten thousand dollars," said Shirley. "And you're paying eighty-two hundred of it."

"That was generous with our money," said Alan.

"What?" said Denny. "This place is worth five hundred a day, tops."

"Seven hundred and twenty-five, not counting the carriage house. The rest is for the security deposit."

"Let me call 'em. They can't do that to Denny Crane."

"They're charging that _because_ you're Denny Crane," said Shirley.

"This is because I shot the mayor's fish, isn't it?"

Alan whipped around and blinked at Denny, opening his mouth to speak.

"No," said Shirley, "it's because you shot up the Queen Anne two years ago."

"I did not shoot it up," said Denny, affronted.

"They had to replace three windows."

"Denny," said Alan, a chill running through him that he hoped he hid.

"I shot an intruder," said Denny.

"You shot the Christmas tree," said Shirley.

"And they had to replace three windows?" said Alan.

"It was moving," said Denny.

"He shot it with a high-powered rifle," said Shirley.

"It was just one bullet...."

"And the windows?" said Alan, failing to ignore Denny's muttering.

"The bullet split the Christmas tree and went through the window behind it," said Shirley.

"And the other two?"

"Top went through one and the bottom through the other," said Denny, a slightly wild-eyed joy lighting his face. "But eighty-two hundred dollars?"

"Friend's discount," said Shirley. "And if you call them up and make waves, they'll charge you twenty grand."

"Yeah, but we'll get it back at the end of our stay," said Denny, in that seductive, gentle growl of a voice that always made Alan feel both comforted and disturbed.

"Fortunately, I don't know their number," said Shirley, with a tight smile.

"Carl wouldn't tell you," Alan surmised.

Shirley squinched up her face in that adorable, sarcastic smile and tapped her nose.

"Speaking of Carl, it's too bad he couldn't come," said Alan, innocently.

"If you get lonely, I'm here for you," said Denny.

"If the case goes well, Carl will be here in a day or two," said Shirley.

"Or three," said Denny, with a shrewdness that made Alan and Shirley look sharply at him for vastly different reasons. "What?" he said. "I'm just saying that witnesses aren't always predictable."

"Denny," said Alan and Shirley.

"If you've done something to Carl's trial, I'll never forgive you!"

"I haven't," said Denny, wide-eyed.

Alan could feel Shirley eying Denny along with him.

"Really, I haven't," said Denny. "Why would you suspect me of such a thing?"

Alan peered at Denny as Shirley rolled her eyes. It looked as though Denny really hadn't done anything. Alan felt his eyes narrow.

"Let's get inside," said Shirley, as the rain began. "And why did you want to do Christmas in Nacho -- Nacha -- whoosy, again?"

"Natcha-tish," said Alan.

"Natchitoches," said Denny.

"Say that again?" said Shirley.

"Nack-a-tish," said Denny.

Alan looked at the guidebook. "Ah. Of course. Wasn't it pronounced 'Atlanta' in the movie?"

"Chinquapin", said Denny.

Alan stared at him.

"Whatever! I'm going inside." Shirley stalked away, leaving her heaviest suitcase for Alan and Denny to fight over.

Each man grabbed the handle. Each man batted the other's hand away. Each looked at the other and shrugged before they both dragged the thing to the steps. "Damn! This thing's heavy," said Denny.

Alan helped him lug it up the steps and into the house. "What's she got in here, the complete MGL?"

"_She_ has presents for some of her closest friends," said Shirley, grasping the handle as they approached the reception desk.

"She has presents for us!" said Denny.

"May I help you?" said a warm, female voice.

They all turned as one toward the voice, which belonged to a blonde woman who could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty.

"Yes, we're checking in for five days. Shirley Schmidt?"

"Oh, yes! Mr. Sack arranged everything. Let's see... you're Denny Crane -- I'd recognize you anywhere...."

"Denny Crane," said Denny, giving her his best (mostly) professional smile.

"Which means that you must be Mr. Alan Shore." The woman maintained a professional demeanor, but Alan sensed her interest.

"I must be," he agreed, smiling affably. He hated being affable.

"Would you all sign the guestbook, please?"

"How quaint," said Shirley, as she signed.

The woman gave her a scathing glance that only Alan noticed as he stepped up to sign next.

Then came Denny.

"Ah, Mr. Crane," said the woman, a large, camouflaging smile on her face. "Will you do me the honor of signing this, please?" She pushed a paper at Denny.

Alan insinuated himself at his husband's left shoulder.

"This says I can't bring a gun into the house!"

"Yes it does," said Alan. "And it's very thorough."

"Why, thank you," said the woman.

"I take it you drew this up?"

"I did indeed, sir," said the woman.

"Are you a lawyer?"

"Who, me? Oh, gracious, no! I'm just a friend of the family's. My daddy's the lawyer. Taught me everything he knew."

Alan reappraised her and found layers of distaste rearranging themselves into patterns he could find attractive. "You do good work, Miss...?"

"Calhoun," she said, offering her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Calhoun," said Alan, shaking her hand.

Denny cleared his throat.

"What?" said Alan.

Denny rolled his eyes. "Please forgive my husband, Miss Calhoun. He has the manners of an armadillo." He took her hand and kissed it.

"Why, Mr. Crane! You do know how to treat a girl, don't you?" She smiled at him, lifting the pen from the desk with her free hand.

"Oh, yes! And I'd be happy to show you more of my Northern hospitality, Miss ... I bet your first name's beautiful."

"I'll be happy to let you make that decision after you sign this," said Miss Calhoun, freeing her hand to offer Denny the pen and a blinding smile.

Denny glanced at Alan. "Must I?"

Alan glanced at Miss Calhoun, one look telling him that she knew everything there was to know about the shooting incident at the Queen Anne. "Yes, Denny. You don't have any guns with you, anyway."

"It's just a formality, Mr. Crane," said Miss Calhoun. "Just so's we can let you have the place. Judge Waters insisted."

"Judge Waters? He owns this place?" Denny's skin turned a funny shade.

"No, no. His nephew does."

"What if I don't sign?"

"Then I'm afraid we can't allow anyone in your party to stay here," said Miss Calhoun.

"We could find another place," said Denny.

"All the establishments in Natchitoches have the same form, Mr. Crane."

Alan eyed her and began to fantasize about arguing a case against her. He wasn't sure he'd win.

"All of them?" Shirley's intrusion into his current fantasy made Alan's blood think about a trip south of the navel.

Miss Calhoun nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"Just for Denny?"

"All for Mr. Crane," said Miss Calhoun.

"Wow, Denny, you have quite the reputation here," said Shirley. "Who knew that shooting up Louisiana's Grand Victorian would be such a big deal?"

Denny sighed. "All right, I'll sign." He took the pen from Miss Calhoun and scratched heavily at the signature line.

"Thank you, Mr. Crane," smiled Miss Calhoun. "And you can call me Suellen."

"You say that so beautifully," said Denny, his voice low and rich.

"Thank you," said Suellen, turning with a smile to the others. "Ms. Schmidt, Mr. Sack requested that we give you the Clairee Suite." She handed Shirley a key. "Mr. Shore, Mr. Crane--"

"Call me Denny...."

"You can have the M'Lynn Room and the Shelby Room. The M'Lynn Room has a queen bed, and the Shelby's a double."

"We can't share?" said Alan, eyebrows raised.

"Mr. Sack said that you probably wouldn't want to share, but what you do with your husband is entirely your business, just as long as it doesn't involve weapons that could hurt the house." Suellen turned a demure smile on Alan that made his skin crawl.

"Just checking," said Alan.

"Alan," said Denny, soothingly. "Stop harassing the lovely lady. I'll share a room with you anytime," he said to Suellen.

"Aw, you are sweet," said Suellen.

If Alan had been in any doubt at all about his feelings toward Suellen Calhoun, that exchange settled his mind: he hated her.

"Now if you're all set, I'll get Robert to bring up your luggage for you. Oh, and Mr. Sack asked me to let you know that your other friends are due to arrive tomorrow afternoon."

"Our other friends?" said Alan.

"Mr. Espenson and Ms. Lloyd will be staying in the Jackson Room." She turned a polite Southern smile on them that told Alan instantly that she knew very well that they hadn't been expecting Jerry and Katie.

"I'm going to kill Carl," said Denny against Alan's ear.

"Aw, come on, Denny," said Shirley. "They deserved a holiday, too." She smiled at Suellen, who rang the bell for Robert.

*****

"Of all the ungrateful, low-down, scheming, conniving...."

"Well, we can't exactly throw stones," said Alan, folding Denny's smoking jacket carefully and setting it in the top dresser drawer.

"Do you think she knows?" said Denny, looking up suddenly from the pants he was refolding.

"Knows what?" Alan unzipped his bag and began putting his clothes in the second drawer.

"About our plan. What are you doing?"

"Putting my clothes away, and I think she might suspect." Alan started to set his best shirt in the drawer.

Denny put a restraining hand on Alan's arm. "I think she knows. And you aren't sleeping here."

"What do you mean I'm not sleeping here? And I think it adds a bit of spice to the pursuit if she suspects, don't you? Ups the ante." Alan started to move, only to be blocked by Denny's grip.

"If you sleep here, people will think we're together. Sexually." Denny's eyes narrowed. "They'll think I'm gay!"

"We're married, Denny. Did you see Suellen Calhoun bat an eye about that?"

"She said Carl told her we wouldn't want to share. She doesn't think I'm gay." Denny's grip loosened slightly. "She wants me," he intoned.

"You can have her. I'll take Shirley."

"Shirley's mine!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Denny! Look, we agreed to share Shirley. Isn't it time we started plotting? And wouldn't it look less suspicious if we just shared this room? If we keep tiptoeing back and forth during the night, Shirley's going to know something's up."

Denny let go of Alan's arm, allowing him to put his shirt away. "You might be right about that."

"Besides," said Alan, lowering his voice, "women like gay men. Sometimes, they even like to try to have sex with them."

Denny's eyes went wide and he turned to Alan, grasping his arm. "Remember that whore in Cedar Rapids?"

"The redhead who thought we were virgins with women?"

"I need a cigar," said Denny, smiling. He patted Alan's back. "Hurry up and put your clothes away. We've got some planning to do."

*****

_She was straddling him and Denny was watching as she settled onto his prick. Denny was naked under his smoking jacket, stroking himself as he watched. She was writhing, moaning his name. Beautiful, of course, and oh, how good she smelled! But he wasn't looking at her, even as she rose and sank and clenched so deliciously. _

_He was looking at Denny. And Denny was looking at him. Denny was stroking himself to full hardness, cock dripping as he looked into Alan's eyes, his lips swollen, sex sweat glimmering on his chest and forehead._

_Shirley moaned loudly and leaned down, somehow rolling them onto their sides. And then there was Denny on the bed, lying behind Shirley, positioning himself and pushing into her back door._

_Alan gasped as he felt Denny enter Shirley, groaned as he felt the thrust and weight of Denny's cock pressing and sliding against his own through the thin walls between them._

_And then Denny was snuffling and grunting against Shirley's ear or Alan's skin, huffing her name when she clenched and groaning his every time their cocks met through her._

_Shirley was rocking faster between them, breathing hard and high-pitched and losing herself between them, arching and crying out and clenching, and shouting, "Alan!" And Denny thrust in hard and came, and his hoarse shout -- "ALAN!" -- was what pushed Alan right off the cliff, and he was falling towards the rocks and screaming and--_

"ALAN!"

He woke up, drenched in sweat, shaking in terror and -- not nearly as hard as he thought he ought to be. And thank heaven he wasn't sticky down there, either, because pressed between Shirley in front and Denny in back, he would have been utterly mortified.

"What the hell were you dreaming about?" said Shirley, voice rough with sleep.

"Falling--" he swallowed. "Falling off a cliff." _Falling in love, which is a hell of a lot worse._

"You know they say if you reach the bottom of that fall, you die," said Denny.

"That -- that is the normal result of falling off a cliff," said Alan, still shaking.

"I meant in your dream," said Denny. "If you reach the bottom in your dream, you die."

"You can also get pretty badly hurt falling off a second-floor balcony," said Shirley.

And that was when Alan realized that he was being cradled. That Denny was anchoring him and Shirley was comforting him. And he was trembling with Denny's chin on his shoulder and Shirley's hand on the cheek that wasn't pressed against Denny's. "Was I--?"

"Yes," said Denny and Shirley.

"I'm sorry," said Alan, too comforted and comfortable to be as embarrassed as he should, which made things even worse.

"You scared Shirley," said Denny. Only this time, his proximity to Alan's ear was a comfort.

And there was something else. Something Alan couldn't quite reach -- and then he did. "I'm sorry, Shirley." Only he found a way to wrap his trapped arm around Denny.

"It's okay, Alan. But only if you tell me your plan."

"What plan?" Alan clung hard to Denny and Shirley, though only half of it was to convince Shirley that he was still flustered.

"The one to get me into bed with both of you."

"I told you she knew," said Denny.

"I heard you hatching it on the balcony over scotch and cigars," she said, settling back against the headboard and dragging Alan back with her.

He rested his head against her shoulder, strangely bereft when Denny let him go and moved to the other side of the bed.

"Someone broke up with him that night," said Denny, burrowing under Shirley's left arm.

"And you suggested a threesome. Typical." But Shirley sighed and hauled Denny in closer. "So here we are, then. The three of us cuddled up in bed together. Wanna do something about it?"

Denny's eyes lit up.

Alan's made their way to his own feet. "No," he said at last. "Well, maybe."

"Maybe?" said Shirley, an enigmatic smile playing about her lips.

"How about a kiss?"

Shirley's smile expanded slightly. "Close your eyes," she said, softly.

Alan blinked.

"Just do it. Nothing bad will happen, I promise."

He looked at Denny, who looked at him, Shirley, him. When Denny shrugged and closed his eyes, Alan sighed and followed suit.

He heard her kissing Denny. Heard Denny's sigh, and ached for his husband's pain when she broke away.

He felt her shifting towards him, and she was kissing his forehead, and there was a hint of that smell again, the one from the dream only without most of the sex scent. And then her mouth was on his, small and soft and annoyingly chaste, and he sighed just as Denny had at the unwelcome perfection of the moment.

As he sank into the exhaustion that had been trying to reach him for the past few weeks, he felt her pulling him in. Felt lips on his mouth that opened this time, inviting him in. Lips that burned and wanted and were fantastic and soft and -- had stubble.

"AAAGHH!" he screamed.

And so did Denny.

"Jesus, guys!" Shirley looked at them as they glared at one another from opposite sides of the bed. "You're married! You're allowed to kiss, you know."

Denny looked appalled. "That's gay!"

"No, it's not! Guys used to do that all the time, and it was perfectly fine. And that was back when homosexuality was a crime punishable by death or imprisonment!"

"The gays were clever," said Denny.

Shirley rolled her eyes. "You don't have to be gay to kiss or hug someone of the same sex! And even if you are, who cares?"

"Hugging's fine," said Alan with Denny.

"As long as it's a manly hug," added Denny, eying Alan suspiciously.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Shirley extracted herself from between them. "I'm going to bed. You two can sort this out for yourselves, but there won't be any threesome, nor will I be sleeping with anyone but Carl for the foreseeable future." With that, she left, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Alan stared at Denny across the bed. "Scotch."

"Cigars," said Denny.

They got the appropriate items and hauled the nearest available chairs out onto the balcony.

"We need a table," said Denny.

"I'll get it," said Alan.

He went back in and cleared off the round pedestal table, and soon they were sipping (gulping) scotch and savoring (inhaling) cigars.

"That was a dirty trick," said Denny.

"Yes, it was," said Alan.

"We have to get revenge."

"We should plot it carefully."

"I can hear you!" came Shirley's voice from her room.

"Can't even get any privacy on a balcony, anymore," muttered Denny.

Alan sipped smoke-drenched scotch. "I can't sleep here tonight."

"Yes, you can," said Denny.

"No, I can't," said Alan. "I'll go to the Shelby Room."

"Oh, no you won't!" said Denny.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll divorce you. That room is pink!"

"Ah." Alan knocked back too big a gulp of scotch and didn't care.

"Besides," said Denny, peering at Alan, "you need me. I don't want you trying to walk on the balcony rail in your sleep again."

"I don't particularly want me doing that, either." Alan looked at Denny, uncertainly.

"Alan," said Denny. "We're married. We share a bed almost every night and don't ever have sex."

Alan opened his mouth and a laugh barked its way out. "You make us sound like every other married couple."

Denny stuck his cigar between his teeth. "That's because we are. Except that I'm Denny Crane and you're Alan Shore." He reached over to pat Alan's knee. "Let's go to bed. There's a lot to do in the morning."

Alan finished his scotch and stubbed out his cigar.

*****

As it turned out, there were no boat rides available the next day, and even if there had been, the cold, wet weather would have ensured that Shirley wouldn't have come along for it. Also, the carriage rides were out because Shirley hated sitting 'at the ass-end of a horse that does nothing but plod miserably through the rain by frozen banana plants while the driver takes a nap'.

And just as Denny and Alan were trying to get reservations at the best restaurant in town, Carl Sack showed up and swept Shirley Schmidt off her feet right in front of God, Denny, Alan, Jerry, Katie, Suellen Calhoun (the smug bitch) and everyone.

They all went out to the party at the Calhoun place, which was a great do at a spectacular place, even though Judge Waters was there and eying Denny throughout the evening, and everyone else was fawning over Suellen.

As the dance band settled into the mood and sway of the evening, Alan couldn't help but notice Shirley and Carl dancing together, perfectly imperfect together and loving every second of it. At least until their next fight. And then he saw Denny gazing at them, and found that ache welling up inside him again. He moved to Denny's side and held out his hand. "Dance with me?"

"Judge Waters will see."

"So? He sees those guys dancing over there, and Jake and Peter two couples away, and those girls in the other corner. And then there's--"

"Look at them," said Denny, deep pain welling slowly through his skin as he stared at Shirley and Carl.

Alan did, bearing silent witness.

"I thought I'd said goodbye to her," said Denny. He turned to Alan, and a single tear fell down his cheek. "I miss her."

"I know," said Alan. "Dance with me." He pulled Denny into his arms. "Think of it as our wedding dance."

"You're never going to get over that, are you?" But Denny was pressed close and Alan could feel the tears.

"Dance with me here tonight, in front of Judge Waters and Suellen Calhoun, and I might."

Denny gave a wet snort of amusement. "You really do hate her, don't you?"

"I might," said Alan, gathering Denny a little closer to avoid a collision and noticing Shirley looking at them. "But right now, there's something more important to think about." He turned his face slightly and kissed Denny on the cheek. "I love you," he murmured.

"Alan," warned Denny.

"Trust me," said Alan into his ear. "Something very good will happen if you trust me."

"Are you going to kiss me?"

"Yes. I can kiss my husband." He leaned in even closer, watching as Shirley stood stock still, riveted. "Trust me," he murmured, and kissed Denny's cheek again, before moving for his mouth. "No tongue, I promise...."

The kiss was sweet and infinitely more disturbing than Alan had hoped it would be, both for the questions it raised and its rightness. But he had little time to ponder that, because in very short order there was a familiar voice tantalizing his ear.

"Now that's what I wanted to see," said Shirley. She kissed both men on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, guys, and Happy New Year. Carl's away on January ninth and tenth." And with that, she glided back to her own husband.

Denny blinked and looked at Alan. "Looks like you were right about that thing about women and gay men."

"Possibly," said Alan, watching as Shirley whispered something to Carl. "Then again, I haven't always had that much luck with women."

**Author's Note:**

> One little glossary note: MGL stands for Massachusetts General Laws.


End file.
